


jimmy's party

by aeridi0nis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Remus Lupin, Drunk Remus Lupin, F/M, Jealous Remus Lupin, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), OR IS IT, One-Sided Sirius Black/Remus Lupin - Freeform, Pining Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin Angst, Remus Lupin Loves Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Sad Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Angst, Unrequited Wolfstar, Werewolf Remus Lupin, like very drunk, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeridi0nis/pseuds/aeridi0nis
Summary: And he’s been expecting this, right? It’s been building for weeks; Remus has known this was coming. Eventually, even Sirius has grown tired of snogging girls in broom cupboards who’s names he takes a few seconds to recall when asked about them. If Marlene’s who he’s chosen, well..good. Marlene’s perfect for him, even Remus can see that. Sirius deserves someone like her.***Remus isn’t jealous of Sirius and Marlene. On the contrary: he gets it. They look good together. So if they want to dance at the post-quidditch-match party, that’s alright. It’s fine, and Remus’ll demonstrate as such by having some fun of his own. Upcoming full moon be damned.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 106





	1. like jerry hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘No! Wasn’t going to say that, you’re putting words in my mouth. I was going to say responsible. Smart. You’ve got more common sense than the rest of us – not much, don’t get me wrong – but more.’
> 
> Remus nods slowly, raising an eyebrow. ‘..Uh-huh, right on. Well. You ought to find that rum you promised Marlene.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ, this whole fic was a right ordeal. Started off with a ‘heather’ type premise then halfway through decided to merge it with a preexisting drunk remus draft id written. Then word malfunctioned and half of it was deleted. so...I don’t even know if I’m happy with this, but SO MUCH work went into it so..enjoy! title is based on the song ‘Tommy’s Party’ by peach pit, Jimmy referring to james. leave a comment if u enjoyed!! y’all keep me going :)
> 
> songs:  
> tommy’s party - peach pit  
> michelle - sir chloe  
> janie jones - the clash

_‘Hey there bud, how’d it go last night?_

_Saw you at the bandstand looking pretty slammed_

_Did you see me feeding all my drinks to Cam?_

_Probably not I guess_

_You were quite the mess..’_

_***_

‘You want it?’

‘Hm?’

‘My jumper. You’re shivering.’

‘Tomorrow is..tomorrow. Symptoms are kicking in. Just agitated, I’m not shivering because I’m cold.’

‘But you are. Cold, I mean. James shouldn’t have made you come, not today. Especially not at seven-thirty in the bloody morning. We’ve been here over two and a half fucking hours. Pomfrey won’t be happy if you turn up and you’ve already got a cold.’

‘Fairly sure a cold will be the least of my worries tomorrow. And James didn’t _make_ me do anything. I wanted to come and cheer him on. This is an, erm, big match. That’s what James said, and you were at breakfast – you saw his diagrams.’

‘You hate Quidditch though. You can’t tell me you even know what those diagrams meant.’

‘That’s not..well, I don’t hate _James_.’

‘Right, then, would you be a dear and tell me the score? No, no, don’t turn, I know the scoreboard’s behind you. Come on now, what’s the score?’

‘We..we are winning. James has scored, many, many times, and we are winning.’

‘By how much?’

‘I..don’t see the point in getting weighed down by such extraneous detail.’

Sirius breathes a laugh, but it fades rather quickly into dissatisfaction when he looks back at Remus. ‘Stop being so stubborn. You’re definitely shivering.’

Yeah, he is. Remus exhales through his mouth, watches it tumble out in front of him and unfurl itself in the freezing air. He hugs himself tighter, prays to someone or other – perhaps James, who’s whizzing around the pitch with all his usual bravado, snatching the quaffle and weaving his way towards the Hufflepuff goals almost lazily – that somebody, _anybody_ , would hurry up and catch the snitch. It’s reaching the point where Remus has decided that if the Gryffindor Seeker, Benji Fenwick, isn’t up to the task, he’s not above shouting out tips to his Hufflepuff counterpart. What he lacks in tactical and technical knowledge of the game, he feels he can more or less make up for with his ability to point at the snitch (which is taunting them, really, glinting maliciously in the bleached winter sun) and shout _‘Look!’,_ and if a seeker’s game-plan is generally any more nuanced than that, then the art of this sport has gone right over Remus’ head, frankly. That’s hard to do, as well. He’s six-foot-something.

‘Remus?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re cold, aren’t you?’

There’s a pause that fools utterly nobody. ‘Admittedly, I’ve been warmer.’

‘Aha, so you _do_ want my jumper,’ Sirius crows, grey eyes sparkling. He’s grinning in that way he does, which makes Remus feel sort of light-headed and vaguely sick, like he hasn’t been paying attention in class, and Kettleburn’s just asked him to name three safety precautions one should take when cleaning out fire crabs, and he’s really got no fucking idea. Sirius’ eyes crease up a lot when he smiles, and it briefly reminds him of the pages of his books, fanned open. Delicate, fragile lines like that, only indented. Remus stares at his shoes, instead. Maybe curses the day he was born a little while he does it.

‘Pete might be cold too.’

He looks up to see Sirius swivel in his seat on the spectator’s bench to face Peter, who’s puffing warm air out of ruddy cheeks in an attempt to warm his hands.

‘Cold, Pete?’ Sirius enquires, with unwarranted enthusiasm that doesn’t waver even a little when Peter pauses his heating ritual to glare at him.

‘What d’you think? M’fucking freezing.’

‘Gotta turn into a werewolf tomorrow, Pete?’

‘Quieter,’ Remus pleads, casting an anxious glance around the stand. The sound of the spectators probably drowned the comment out to anyone but the trio, and there aren’t that many people close to them anyway – most people don’t fancy staying through an entire match in the middle of January, and Remus doesn’t blame them – but Sirius’ volume is still a little careless. Peter sighs, cupping his hands to resume blowing on them again, but not before muttering ‘No, as it happens, don’t plan on it.’

Sirius makes a clicking sound at the back of his throat. ‘Ah, sorry then mate, have to prioritise Moony-boy here, you understand.’ He tugs the jumper over his head, shaking his hair back into place once he has, and thrusts it into Remus’ arms, forcing him to either take it or let it fall to the floor. It’s soft, and a tad big for Sirius. Burgundy, because everything with that boy is house colours, house pride. Remus holds it reluctantly, awkwardly, as though he fears it may detonate spontaneously in his arms. It’s Sirius Black; he’s learnt not to rule such things out.

‘And now you’re just going to be cold, instead.’

Sirius shrugs, looking back at the game. ‘Don’t feel it.’

Remus rolls his eyes, because of course. Sirius Black is simply above the elements, above such petty mortal things that plague the rest of them; body temperatures and the like.

‘That’s a myth. Everybody feels the cold.’

‘And every time you open up your mouth to argue with me, you waste valuable energy that you could be using to stave off hypothermia.’

It is, Remus concedes, a fair point. He pulls the jumper over his own thin brown one, which is worn at the elbows and begging for a retirement he can’t afford to grant it. This one smells like Sirius, which is odd, because he’s never seen Sirius wear it before today. There’s muggle cigarettes that Remus is really supposed to confiscate; that expensive pine cologne that he applies far too liberally (but it’s alright, because it’s proper nice). Soap. It’s only once Remus has identified all three that he realises he’s probably had his face in the jumper for way too long in order to be able to do so. He pokes his head through the top rather sheepishly, immediately grateful that the sharp, bitter bite of the wind has been blunted.

‘Christ, this is warm,’ he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else.

‘Told you,’ Sirius replies, tearing his eyes away from the pitch (where James is being scolded for barrelling into Hufflepuff keeper Roger McLaggen during his corkscrew-turn celebration of a goal that he didn’t actually score) to smirk at Remus. ‘It was right expensive. Proper quality wool,’ he informs him, his voice low and playful.

Remus raises a warning eyebrow. ‘Don’t say it.’

‘Say _what_ , Moony?’ Sirius asks, widening his eyes in mock innocence. ‘I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

‘Yes, you do. You’re going to tell the joke. Even though it’s not even remotely funny.’

Sirius leans back towards Peter. ‘Is it funny, Peter?’

‘No.’

His grin widens. ‘You’re just sulking, Moony, because you’re the butt of it. But I can see it in your eyes, you want me to say it.’

‘There is no butt to the joke – that’s the problem. It’s an awful joke.’

‘Remus..’

‘Don’t.’

‘You’re a..’

‘Has it ever gotten one genuine laugh?’

‘You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Remus.’

There’s a lingering silence between the boys, Sirius’ expectant look met with expressions of disdain from both Remus and Peter. Just then, Gryffindor chaser Dirk Cresswell scores, and the stand around them erupts into a bout of excited cheers.

‘See?’ says Sirius. ‘They liked it.’

‘You’re a prat,’ Remus replies, but even when he squints into the distance, he can’t suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s a battle lost. He fiddles with the slightly-too-short- sleeves of Sirius’ jumper, which Peter is gazing at longingly, the way he gazes the last jam tart when somebody’s already taken it, or a rare chocolate frog card that’s come out of someone else’s box. He averts his eyes a second too slowly to be discreet about it.

‘You can wear it if you want, Peter,’ Remus offers, knowing Sirius well enough to assume he’ll take no offence at his lending his clothes to Peter. Besides, at some point during their third year, everyone apparently established collective ownership over Remus’ jumpers and cardigans ( _not_ a meeting he remembers being present for). ‘I won’t be able to live with myself if I’m the reason your nipples freeze off.’

‘Ah, nonsense, his nipples are just fine, isn’t that right Pete?’ Sirius prompts encouragingly, slinging his arm around the fair boy’s neck and pulling him into his side. Remus examines his own lap, scratches at a scar on his left wrist.

‘Match can’t have much longer, there’s no way we can’t win this,’ Peter speculates.

Remus stuffs his hands into his pockets, mumbling ‘As long as someone does.’ The arm around Peter’s neck retracts as Fabian Prewett sends a bludger with a nasty looking spin on it hurtling towards Hufflepuff’s best chaser, a wiry-looking girl with long, intricate braids that are now decorating the ground rather nicely. It really, surely can’t be long now.

‘Brilliant,’ Sirius announces, rubbing his hands together with remarkable urgency for someone who doesn’t feel the cold. ‘There’ll be a party. We’ll need drink, me and Prongs’ll take the tunnel after dinner.’

‘Two-man missions’, they call them. ‘Missions,’, because the formality of the word lends their endeavours an air of importance that suitably reflects how seriously the marauders take mischief. ‘Two-man,’, because calling them what they are - James-and-Sirius missions - would be a tad blunt, even for Sirius. Remus and Peter have learned not to question it when the pair traipse back into the dormitory after curfew, offering only _‘two-man mission this time, boys,’_ as excuse, the other one snickering at the joke only reserved for the two of them. They’re very aware of how their dynamic appears to outsiders observing the group: James and Sirius are, naturally, the frontmen, Remus and Peter the enduring sidekicks. For the most part, this isn’t accurate, but it’s understandable why someone would read them that way. _Black and Potter’s lot. Black and Potter and the other two._

They aren’t that common, the missions, but they don’t bother Remus and Peter all that much anyway. It’s never occurred to them to pull their own two-man pranks in retaliation – pranking in one’s sixth year is a tiring enough venture when there’s four people on the task, let alone if you halve the workforce. A break – a turn on the sub-bench – is usually welcomed.

Today, however, for some godforsaken reason – be it the wolf making his presence known a day early, or the fact that the white sunshine is glimmering in Sirius’ hair like undisturbed water over black rock and it’s turning Remus into a fucking dandy poet, _Christ_ – Remus decides he fancies being in the starting line-up for this one.

‘I’ll come,’ he says, looking at neither Sirius nor Peter. In his peripheral, dark eyebrows arch. Sirius and James have gone into Hogsmeade for alcohol on four separate occasions now, they’re familiar with the tunnel, the layout of the Three Broomsticks. Remus, on the other hand, is not.

‘S’long walk, should you really be exerting yourself this close to the..y’know?’

Remus shrugs, because his friends have a habit of making him out to be something fragile and delicate before a full moon and it’s always a tad overdramatic, things like calling walking ‘exertion’.

‘Good thing I’ve got legs, then.’

‘It’s just you don’t usually come, might be easier..’ Alright, this is true, but why is Sirius fighting him on this so much? He doesn’t want him to come, probably. James is more fun.

‘All the more reason for me to come, so I know the route for next time or whatever. People will be wanting to talk to James, McGonagall included, probably. Way more noticeable if he’s gone.’

Sirius nods slowly. Remus tugs at a thread in his jean pocket.

‘Alright,’ Sirius says finally holding up his hands in surrender in a way that irritates Remus slightly, as if he’s been aggressive or unreasonable. ‘You and me’ll go.’

‘Alright,’ Remus agrees, and he’s embarrassed – why is he embarrassed?

‘Yeah.’

‘Get butterbeer too, I can’t be arsed for a hangover,’ Peter chimes in. Sirius cranes his head back, squinting up at the deceivingly blue sky.

‘Only you get to make specific orders, though,’ he warns. ‘If we listen to what everyone wants and turn up with a fucking shopping list, me and Moony’ll be there all night, miss the sodding party ourselves.’

Remus barely registers the words, to be honest. Sirius’ skin is pale and bright against the sunlight, and he realises he’s staring, and suddenly he feels awfully weird and creepy, because you aren’t supposed to stare at your best mate like that. You really aren’t supposed to feel _any_ of this stuff Remus feels for your best mate. There’s probably some code of friendship out there or something, a fancy oath about brotherhood and such, that Remus is definitely breaking. To be fair though, it isn’t by choice. Christ, doesn’t he know that.

Sirius, ever more horrifyingly, seems to notice, and he nudges Remus with his elbow, smiling reassuringly. His eyes do the crease thing again. ‘Glad to have you coming, Prefect Lupin. And you suit that. More than it suits me.’

Sirius isn’t really the woollen jumper sort (unless they’re someone else’s, and he can steal them), whereas Remus most definitely is, but it’s still not true. Remus doesn’t suit anything better than Sirius (with the exception of maybe his name, because what a cruel twist of fate that one turned out to be). Still, he’s cold enough to be grateful for the way his face heats up at the compliment.

He looks away at the Hufflepuff goals in the distance. ‘Thanks.’

***

‘Oi! _Black!’_ she calls from three or four seats down, leaning forward to ensure she’s heard amongst the clinks and chatter of dinner in the great hall, her voice sing-song. It isn’t his name, but Remus finds himself looking up anyway, following Sirius’ line of sight to meet Marlene McKinnon smiling at him, eyes shining.

‘What’s that, love?’ Sirius calls back, and around her, Marlene’s friends giggle.

It’d be wrong to describe it as an unspoken thing - this thing half the school have for Sirius – because it’s spoken about ever such a lot, but it’s certainly.. _obvious._ Sort of expected, really, that if you’ve got two eyes in your head and a fancy for boys, that you’re going to agree that he’s unbearably pretty (the girls like using that word, Remus thinks it’s a bit poncy, accurate or not). Sirius is aware of it – you sort of have to be, with as many conquests under your belt as Sirius has. Remus is painfully aware of it.

Remus has had a long time to think about it, and he knows he doesn’t just like Sirius like that. It’s not just about his looks (though they’re definitely a contributing factor, you can’t blame him for that). Remus likes Sirius’ laugh, when he’s properly laughing. He’s a dramatic laugher – the sort who makes a show of falling out of his bed laughing, clutching his chest and wiping tears away from his eyes long after everyone else has recovered, which usually just means the others burst into laughter again themselves. Remus likes saying things that warrant such a laugh from Sirius. He likes talking to Sirius about music; likes how indignant he gets when you force him to choose between Sex Pistols and The Ramones (eventually he chooses Sex Pistols, because they’re British, which seems like a nonsensical reason for a verdict to Remus). He cannot hold a tune adequately enough to sing along to most of his records, but he usually just descends into laughter again, so Remus doesn’t mind.

He likes how kind Sirius is, contrary to popular (and Snape’s) belief. If you’re part of the - albeit small - group of people Sirius cares about, you see his loyalty first-hand. Hell, he’s still here, isn’t he? He knows what Remus is, and he’s still here, four years later. He still looks after Remus (second only in his mothering tendencies to one James Fleamont Potter), still makes him eat, still wakes him up if he can see he’s having a nightmare, because Remus has those a lot. Sirius does, too, and unbeknownst to the other two they spend a lot of nights together in the common room when neither of them can sleep. It was there, actually, one night towards the end of their fifth year, when he and Sirius had sat in front of the fireplace at around four in the morning. It’d been Sirius’ nightmare, this time. They weren’t talking (Sirius doesn’t like to talk about his), just sitting, the orange-glow of the fire bouncing off of Sirius’ face, his hair, giving his slate eyes a goldish sheen. He’d smiled at Remus, softly, sheepishly, sadly. It was then that Remus had realised how truly fucked a situation he was in. He’s still in the same situation now.

Sirius remembers things, too, if you’re someone he considers worth his memory – things that other people would forget. Sometimes, it’s things Remus barely realises he’s divulged, and they’ll resurface courtesy of Sirius at the most random times. He buys good presents, because he remembers that Remus’ favourite colour is navy, remembers his favourite bands (even if he still ridicules his love of the Beatles at any given opportunity), favourite flavours of chocolate. He buys Remus a criminal amount of chocolate; it’s a debt he doesn’t reckon he’ll ever manage to repay properly. Sirius is incomprehensibly thoughtful, despite his cavalier attitude to just about everything else in life.

Remus often finds himself in awe of him, too, though this probably isn’t something he could ever tell him. Sirius is brave, always has been. In fact, it might’ve been that that drew Remus to James and Sirius in the first place. Remus, who’d arrived at Hogwarts utterly terrified, the warnings of his father still ringing in his ears, had found himself gravitating towards the brightest, most vivid characters he could find. They cast a big shadow, and looking back, Remus supposes he’d initially found that to be a rather comforting place to hide in. Sirius had been a Gryffindor since before the hat had ever touched his head, truthfully, Ancient and Most Noble (or whatever they call themselves; Remus can’t always remember and Sirius doesn’t want him to) house of Black be damned. He recalls the first week of their first year, Sirius’ older cousin Bellatrix calling him a filthy traitor because of how he sorted, sending hexes barrelling down the corridor towards him when his back was turned. How white-faced he’d been when he was sorted into Gryffindor, but then how quickly he’d shaken it off, ignored the whispers and worn his label of traitor like a badge of honour. Remus remembers the howlers – _Christ,_ back then there’d been so many howlers – that would scream and curse in his mother’s voice at Sirius over breakfast, the entire hall neglecting their eggs and bacon in favour of watching the spectacle. And Sirius had just never batted an eyelid, never flushed red. He’d simply waited for them to end, blank-faced, and once Walburga had screeched herself hoarse he’d jut his chin out defiantly and return to his cereal. It feels wrong to say Remus had admired him for it, because Sirius’ stoic front had worried him, at first, but it had been something like that. Something like admiration.

Remus does not just like Sirius like that, not just because of his looks. He’s yet to decide if that’s better or worse.

‘Heard you’re getting drink? For tonight?’ Marlene asks. Remus watches Sirius’ brow furrow.

‘Heard? Heard from who? We haven’t told anybody.’

‘Well, sweet,’ she says, ‘Next time you lot are planning your top-secret missions like you’re straight out of _The Man With The Golden Gun_ , might want to do it somewhere less conspicuous than the Quidditch stands, get me? I’ve got eyes everywhere Black, don’t you know?’ Marlene laughs, and suddenly Remus is worrying about what else her ‘eyes’ may have overheard, but he quiets the thoughts, focuses on Marlene’s face. She’s not frowning at him, not curling her lip in disgust. On the contrary: she’s smiling. Marlene’s got a very pretty smile. Remus casts an absent glance in Sirius’ direction, notices he’s blushing. Does Sirius blush? Is that a thing that happens?

‘Don’t what you’re talking about, love! But alas, it seems you’ve got us figured out. We’re going after dinner, why’d you ask?’

‘You think you could get us some rum? Don’t like beer, see, but I’ll have rum. The proper good kind, though – none of that pumpkin-flavoured wizard foolishness. I’ll give you money and that, I know Broomstick’s got some up on them shelves.’

This is exactly what Sirius hadn’t wanted, Remus remembers. Shopping list and that. They’ll miss the party. That’s why it sort of bothers Remus when Sirius replies:

‘So that was rum? Yeah, sure, right on ladies. Don’t worry about money, alright? It’s on the house, me and Remy,’ (a nickname Remus is actually not very fond of, but Sirius can’t very well go round calling him Moony to other people, so he’s made his peace with it) ‘Have it covered. Just don’t mention it to no one else, dig? Minnie’ll jilt me if she finds out, you don’t wish that heartbreak on me love, do you?’ Sirius replies, winking at her and pushing a stray black lock out of his face. The girls around Marlene giggle again, and she shoots back a ‘Ta, sweet!’ before sinking back down into her seat.

‘Why’d they all flirt with you, huh? Never mind that it was _me_ who won us the bloody match, no one cares about _that_ ,’ James grumbles, stabbing into his pork sulkily in his seat across from Remus. He’s still in his Quidditch jumper, and Remus knows he’s only half serious, because he knows later that there’ll be a crowd of people in the common room wanting to talk to him about his heroism (as James describes it).

‘Lily cares about it, she was watching you the whole time, swear it,’ Peter assures him.

There’s no witty retort from Sirius. He’s still staring at Marlene.

It’s worse. Definitely worse.

***

‘She’s right pretty, isn’t she?’

‘Hm? Who?’

‘Madam Pomfrey. _Merlin,_ Moony, who’d you think? _Marlene_ ,’ Sirius remarks, ducking his head as the passageway narrows, indicating the close proximity of the tunnel’s end: a loose trapdoor disguised as a manhole cover, built just behind the Three Broomsticks. Remus, who is practically doubled over just behind him, twists his fists into the invisibility cloak he’s clutching in his left hand. In his right, he’s illuminating the trail with his wand, white light trickling meekly into the dark.

‘Yeah.’

It’s not bitterness. Remus is just observant. He’s observed the way Sirius looks at Marlene recently – he’s got a habit of looking at Sirius himself, so he notices her more too as a consequence. He’s noticed the way Sirius acts around her, and it’s not like the others; Sirius does do his fair share of peacocking, he’s always been the sort to flirt out of boredom – with anyone, because he knows he can. He’s different with Marlene. He takes longer to pack his things away in Transfiguration, because Marlene sits behind him and he can talk to her for longer that way. He’s actually been turning up to James’ Quidditch practices, because Marlene’s been going to support her friend Florence, who’s their new keeper, and she’s still a little nervous about it. He does his homework – what little homework he does do – in the common room, instead of in their dormitory.

And it makes sense. Marlene’s pretty, and not only that, she’s also – and you’d almost think this goes without saying – _human._ She’s mesmerising, honestly, with hair like that model – Jerry Hall? – that Remus has seen on one of his mum’s muggle magazines: all long, cascading curls of whiskey-brown. Sirius had stared for a good five minutes last Tuesday, when she’d twisted her hair up and pinned it through with her wand so she could paint Lily’s nails (which, incidentally, had had James staring too). Stray curls framed her face, which is tanned, olive – not at all like Remus (or Sirius, for that matter), who is, right now, looking sickly and pale, and sort of grey. And she’s always, _always_ smiling. She’s got one of those smiles that has you smiling too, without even realising it. A smile that reaches her eyes every time, which are dark – Remus doesn’t know the shade specifically, not that he would – but always wide and fluttering with laughter. She laughs at everything, smiles at everyone, one of those smiles that people usually reserve for lovers. Marlene loves everyone, though, and she’ll smile at you as though the two of you know something nobody else does. It’s quite enchanting. She looks at Remus that way, and he barely knows her, which makes it very hard for him to dislike her the way he wishes he could. He doesn’t have it in him, that energy for envy. He’s just too tired.

She’s very much like Sirius in that way, actually. People want to be liked by them, want to be in with them. They sort of glow, standing out like everything – the sun, the sea, the sky, everyone around them at any given moment – has come together just for them. The centre of the solar system. God knows – _Remus_ knows - Sirius isn’t perfect, but he’ll have you believing that he’s exactly as close as any one teenage boy can get.

‘Yeah, she is, isn’t she?’ Sirius agrees with himself, the cover guarding the tunnel now in sight a few feet ahead. Remus isn’t sure if he’s expected to respond again, but his question is answered when Sirius starts:

‘I mean, I know you aren’t into birds like that—’

Remus stops walking, and the pause in the rhythm of his footsteps has Sirius looking over his shoulder as best he can in the confined space. Remus’ wand arm is dangling by his side, and he can barely make out by Sirius’ face.

‘I am into girls,’ he mumbles, a tad more defensive than he intended to be.

‘You are? Oh yeah, sorry, both, ain’t it?’

‘Both, yeah. Think so. Bisexual.’ He’s forgotten why he’s raised this particular issue, but he has. For some reason, he wants Sirius to know. They resume walking.

‘Well then you get what I’m saying even more, yeah? She’s really pretty. Marlene, I mean. Not just like the others. Not just like..fit, y’know? It’s not just like that, this time. She’s..pretty.’

(There’s been quite a few others.)

‘She’s nice,’ Remus offers, almost too quiet to be picked up. Sirius has reached the cover now, pops it open with his elbows and mutters his thanks to whoever installed this tunnel (Remus, who’s been hunched over for the entire journey, is not quite as grateful. James is nearly as tall as him – how the fuck does he do it?). He pulls himself out into the freezing evening air, turning to take Remus’ things out of his hands so he can do the same. They’re met with the back of the Three Broomsticks, voices and laughter drifting out of windows that have absolutely no right being open in such temperatures. The warm glow of the lamps adorning the tables, however, is admittedly tempting. For the second time today, Remus is grateful to be wearing Sirius’ jumper.

‘S’busy,’ Remus comments as Sirius hands him his wand back. Sirius shrugs, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

‘Seen it busier here with James. And it doesn’t really matter, only person to look out for is Rossie. She’ll be at the bar, and from the backdoor you can get straight to the storeroom anyway. Besides, it’s not like we’re _stealing_ —’

‘Trespassing?’

‘Well, yeah, but it’s trespassing that we’re going to pay for. Rossie is profiting from this whole exchange. C’mon, wait, let me just..’ Sirius holds the cloak out wide for Remus to duck under, draping it over the both of them (‘Fuck, you’re too tall for this to cover both of us these days, Moony.’ ‘Sorry.’) Remus blots out the light of his wand and they advance towards the backdoor. There’s fortunately no one around to see Sirius’ pale hand dart out to inch it open.

***

‘Firewhiskey? D’you reckon we should get firewhiskey?’ Sirius whispers, shaking a rather heavy-duty looking bottle at Remus from across the room.

‘How much is it?’

‘We can afford it.’

Sirius, for all the distance he puts between himself and his family, still has a tendency to forget that not everyone has the wealth at their disposal that he does. It’s not as though this bothers Remus, but he doesn’t like having to be the reminder all that often. He glances down at the two large bottles he’s holding: _Dragon Barrel Brandy_ and a dubious-looking nettle tequila.

‘I might not be able to.’

‘We’re pooling our resources, Moony. I’ll pay it all, if necessary.’

If Remus were brave and jealous and childish, he might say _‘We’d be paying less if you hadn’t promised free drinks to the girl you fancy.’_ Remus is none of these things, however. Well, maybe one of them. To be fair, though, he reckons he’d get Sirius free drinks if he asked for them. That in mind, he just replies, ‘Yeah, get it then, I suppose.’

They rummage around the various dusty shelves and barrels for a few minutes, freezing when they hear any dangerously close footsteps and relaxing when they grow distant again. Remus procures a case of spiced beer: Sirius grins triumphantly when Remus rushes over to get a better look at the chocolate liqueur he’s found. ‘Far out,’ he murmurs, reminding himself that he really shouldn’t uncap the bottle until he’s paid, however good he thinks it’ll smell.

‘Knew you’d like that. There, you pay for that, I’ll get the rest, eh?’

Remus’ smile drops. ‘What? Why?’

‘Doesn’t seem fair to make you pay for alcohol you don’t want to drink.’

‘What d’you mean? Who..who said I don’t want to drink any of this?’ Remus asks, taking a step back. Sirius seems to think he’s struck a nerve, and he looks around at the bottles they’ve collected, furrowing his brow. ‘No, no, I just thought..is it a good idea? I just thought, with the moon tomorrow…didn’t think you’d want to go mad and that.’

Alright, that’s a fair point, and it’s true. Remus isn’t exactly stoked at the idea of a party; he’s got a headache already and could probably do with a good night’s sleep. If Sirius had left it there, Remus would have probably admitted that he was right.

‘..Besides, is it really your thing? You always..you always say you want to stay sober when the rest of us make wankers out of ourselves. Like, y’know, in our group, you’re usually the—’

‘The boring one,’ Remus interjects, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. He leans back against the storeroom wall, grinning, as Sirius’ eyes widen and he scrambles for words.

‘No! Wasn’t going to say that, you’re putting words in my mouth. I was going to say _responsible_. Smart. You’ve got more common sense than the rest of us – not much, don’t get me wrong – but more.’

Remus nods slowly, raising an eyebrow. ‘..Uh-huh, right on. Well. You ought to find that rum you promised Marlene.’

‘Yeah, right, the muggle stuff,’ he mutters, turning to search the shelves and crates methodically. Eventually, he emerges from behind a stack of barrels with two big bottles of Jamaican rum. He looks from the bottles, up to Remus and back down again.

‘I think I really like her Moony,’ he whispers, as though saying it out like makes it more real (which it does, at least to Remus). ‘Like..not just messing or nothing. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to go around with someone, y’know? With someone. Her, I suppose. We get on. I want to do it proper, the way James wants to go around with Lily. And I think she likes me, Marlene, so it’s good.’

And he’s been expecting this, right? It’s been building for weeks; Remus has known this was coming. Eventually, even Sirius has grown tired of snogging girls in broom cupboards who’s names he takes a few seconds to recall when asked about them. If Marlene’s who he’s chosen, well..good. Marlene’s perfect for him, even Remus can see that. Sirius deserves someone like her.

The way he sees it, Sirius needs Remus the way a car needs breaks. When he needs to be, he’s the straight man in the Black and Potter variety show. He’s extremely necessary. And that’s not to say that he doesn’t get up to his fair share of mischief – there’s been a staggering abuse of power on his part ever since he’s become a prefect – but when somebody needs to be the word _‘wait’,_ it’s down to Remus to assume the role. He’s okay with that, hell, he’s even okay with being the boring one sometimes. But he often finds himself wishing he could excite Sirius. Marlene excites him; he can see it.

‘She probably does.’

‘Yeah. Do you think I should? Y’know, make a move on her? What do you think?’

He can’t very well say no, not unless he wants to explain himself. _No, because I’m in love with you myself, actually._ So instead he goes ‘Yeah, I suppose. Why not?’

’Oh, uh, good, yeah. Yeah,’ Sirius says, and he’s talking to himself again. ‘Why not. Yeah.’

If an awkward silence had plans to settle, it isn’t given the chance; the sound of Madam Rosmerta’s voice breaks in, _‘Dunno if we’ve got that dear, let me go check in the back!’_

The boys stare at each other for a second, frantic, before Sirius is diving for the cloak and Remus is scrambling to collect the drinks they’ve amassed, slinging them into Sirius’ bag.

_‘Wait, nah, we’ll have some in that there cupboard under the tap, what am I on about? Merlin, I’m losing me marbles..’_

And Rosmerta’s footsteps recede, leaving Remus and Sirius to recover from what had very nearly been twin heart attacks. ‘Fucking hell, Rossie, what’re you trying to do to us?’ Sirius mutters, straightening up and tossing his hair back. ‘We’ve got what we need, let’s just leave the money over there and get out of here.’

Remus nods as he finishes packing away their stuff, barely protesting when Sirius thrusts his own money onto their designated shelf before Remus has a chance to contribute.

After all, it leaves Remus with just enough money to pay for the two extra bottles of tequila that he grabs while Sirius isn’t looking.

***

‘Hey you! My hero!’ Marlene cries, turning her attention to Remus, who had until now thought he’d managed to effectively hide himself from view in the corner of the room. She bounds up to him, swaying slightly (likely due to the half-empty bottle of rum she’s clutching). ‘Why aren’t you having fun, sweet?’ she asks, because Marlene is charming enough to get away with being over-familiar with anyone. She stands over where he’s sitting on the stone windowsill, smiling that smile of hers.

‘I am having fun,’ he assures her, offering up a half-hearted smile of his own. She tilts her head, regarding him disapprovingly. He is not having fun, but he doesn’t want to go to bed. Doesn’t want to be _that_ boring.

‘No, no, why don’t you come and join us! You’re our _hero_ , you supplied all this! Shouldn’t be sitting here all alone, you’re making me sad.’ She gestures at the crowd in the centre of the common room, Sirius, James and Peter likely somewhere in its midst, and then back at Remus in his corner. ‘Don’t let James hear you say that, he’ll want to remind you that he’s the one who won us the match.’

‘No point winning a match if there’s no alcohol around to celebrate it,’ she reasons. ‘We’ve got you and Sirius to thank for this party. And this rum. Muggle rum, it’s so much better. Here, try some,’ she says, thrusting the bottle down towards him. Remus holds his hand up in polite declination and Marlene frowns, her gaze softening.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You look sort of…sick,’ she presses, creasing her brow.

‘This is just how I look, I’m perfectly fine, honestly.’

Marlene nods to herself, weighing up his point. ‘That’s true, you do look like this a lot, actually.’ Her eyes widen when she realises what she’s said, and she claps her free hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry! That was sort of rude, wasn’t it? Should put this down,’ she says through her fingers, making no move to relinquish the bottle. Remus’ chuckle is lost in the noise of the party, and the rock record spinning somewhere. He doesn’t recognise the tune. ‘Not at all.’

‘Remus!’ Sirius cries, striding towards him and Marlene. ‘Where’ve you been? Thought we’d lost you, mate. Thought you’d _died._ Peter had prepared a really lovely eulogy though, so it’s almost a shame you aren’t dead, because now no one’s going to get to hear it.’

‘Ah, so sorry to disappoint.’

Marlene giggles, and Sirius runs a hand through his hair the way he’s mocked James for doing a thousand times. ‘Alright, Marlene?’

‘Alright, Sirius,’ she smiles. ‘Was just thanking _Remy_ here,’ (So that’s catching on. Excellent.) ‘For the rum. And now I’m thanking you, too. S’far out, getting all this for the party. Wish you’d tell me how you sneak out like that.’

‘Ah,’ Sirius replies, shaking his head solemnly. ‘Sorry, love. Confidential mission.’

‘You really are like James Bond, then, eh?’

‘ _Who?’_ Sirius asks, and Remus and Marlene share an amused look; Remus knows she’s got a muggle parent same as he does, she mentioned it during History of Magic once when they were discussing the Statute of Secrecy. She rolls her eyes and giggles again, the liquid in the bottle sloshing against the sides as she sways. Sirius puts his hand on her forearm to steady her.

Remus decides he doesn’t want to be the only one sitting down. He shoots up rather abruptly, but keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes.

‘How’d you not know— _purebloods._ Oh my god, you lot are proper archaic, aren’t you? It’s a _film,_ Black. You know films, surely?’

Sirius blushes a little, and Remus wishes they’d stop doing this in front of him, or at least move out of the way so he can leave. ‘Yeah, I know films. But I haven’t seen James Bond.’

‘Any of them? There’s, like, a few. You should watch them, y’know. You’re like him.’

Truthfully, Remus doesn’t see it, but that is not the point of this conversation.

‘Maybe I’ll watch them with you, then,’ Sirius says. This all seems to come so easy to him. Marlene tucks a curl behind her ear.

‘Yeah, maybe.’

It’s as though they’ve forgotten he’s there, so Remus coughs to remind them. Sirius steps back, looking around at him sheepishly. The hand on Marlene’s arm drops. ‘Sorry there, Remus. You alright?’

‘Grand.’

Marlene sighs. ‘He’s so _nice,_ Black. So polite. How’d he end up with your lot?’

Sirius grins at Remus, who gets that fluttery feeling again because his own body is a treacherous bastard. ‘He’s got you fooled, then? Ah, he is, isn’t he? The best of us, truly,’ he declares, but his voice softens as he finishes his sentence; it loses its’ humorous edge, his gaze intensifies. It suddenly feels too hot to be wearing Sirius’ jumper.

‘One complaint, though,’ Marlene adds, and the eye contact is broken. ‘He won’t come and have fun with us! I offered him some of this, but..’ she explains, holding up the rum bottle.

‘And _Remus Lupin_ turned the rum _down?_ Well I _never!_ Someone alert the ministry!’ Sirius exclaims, clutching his chest theatrically. He falters, however, when Remus doesn’t laugh. Checks his watch.

‘You feeling alright, Remus? Maybe you should go up, y’know. Peter’s already gone up, and I mean, tomorrow..’ he trails off, raising his eyebrows knowingly. Marlene looks between them, puzzled.

‘You his mum, Sirius? S’only nine.’

‘No, but Remus..’

‘I’m fine,’ Remus cuts in, almost snaps, because you know what? Sirius is _not_ his mum. Remus can handle being up late as much as everyone else can. It’s a party, and Remus suddenly wants to attend.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Uh, alright,’ Sirius nods slowly. He looks back at Marlene, and his smile returns (which is not lost on Remus). ‘Fancy a dance?’

She snorts, jerking her head towards the record player she’s been obscuring from Remus’ line of sight. ‘To this?’

‘I can dance to anything, love.’ It’s true, Remus has seen him.

‘Prove it then,’ Marlene challenges, taking Sirius’ hand. If they had been in a cartoon, this would be the part where Sirius’ eyes would turn into love hearts and then explode, Remus reckons. Marlene flashes Remus one last genuine smile, and leads a very willing Sirius into the crowd. Five minutes later, they’re dancing enthusiastically, Sirius beaming from ear to ear as he lifts his arm for Marlene to twirl beneath it. Remus would look very stupid doing that.

The handy thing about making yourself invisible at a party, Remus is beginning to find, is that if no one can see you, there’s no one to stop you drinking two bottles of tequila, three cups of firewhiskey, and seven hundred and fifty millilitres of chocolate liqueur.


	2. like james bond, sort of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and he actually looks vaguely concerned when he asks ‘How much do you remember?’
> 
> Well, that’s unnerving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole thing could’ve worked as a one shot, but it’s quite long and I thought this was the natural place to split it. writing remus drunk is so fun.  
> update: made some minor edits to the end scene, which I realize now I initially pasted in from an older version than my final draft.

_’Though we didn’t talk much, how’d your evening go?_

_Barely spoke a word to me besides that slurred hello_

_But I happened to see without even trying_

_How she laughed with you_

_Just like I used to.’_

***

‘Oi, Jamie-boy! We ain’t had a speech!’ Dirk Cresswell shouts, well into the evening and well past the appropriate time for speech-making. James, however, is happy to oblige. Skilled in the art of speech-making as he is, after making many speeches as Gryffindor captain, he climbs onto a coffee table (much to Lily’s dismay) and drags a hand through his hair, holding up the other one for quiet. It should say something about his general reputation amongst his fellow house-members, following his performance today, that he gets it almost immediately. He is _not_ letting it get to his head, though. At least not before the alcohol does.

‘Alright! Erm, well I’d just like to say—’

‘Fuckin’ terrible start,’ Sirius calls from one of the sofas, arm slung around Marlene McKinnon (and, sorry, when did _that_ happen?). There are a few giggles, and then people turn their attention back to James. Somebody quietens the record.

‘I’d just like to _say_ a, uh, few things,’ James begins again, glaring at Sirius. ‘Firstly, I’d like to request we take it down just a _notch,_ lest McGonagall comes and shuts us down early—’

‘My Minnie would _never!_ ’ Sirius whines, and Marlene slaps his arm.

‘And secondly, I’d like to thank our team for their performance today. It was a long one, but you were all fuckin’ _stellar,_ especially Dirk, and Florence, our new keeper!’ James announces, and there’s a few whoops of support, including from Marlene.

‘We are now exquisitely placed to destroy Slytherin very soon, which’ll surely call for an even grander soiree than this,’ he continues, gesturing around the room. ‘So, erm, yeah! Well done us! And now, the lovely Lily Evans is looking at me the same way my mum does when she’s exasperated – actually, _wow,_ that really is eerily similar – so I feel I must pass on the message that if you are a first, second or third-year, you should _definitely_ be in bed right now, and should also probably not drink anything offered to you here tonight! Thank you!’

‘Lupin’s our prefect, not you!’ a rather surly-looking third year protests.

James frowns, wagging his finger at the boy. ‘Well, nevertheless, if Remus was here he’d definitely—wait. Where _is_ Remus? I haven’t seen him since..shit, I haven’t seen him all evening..’ James realises, seemingly unaware of the crowd still watching him.

‘Lupin? He just left,’ Davey Gudgeon informs him.

‘What d’you mean he _left?_ He’s gone up?’

‘You thick, Potter? He just walked out. Of the portrait hole. Just before your speech.’

James shoots a glance at Sirius, who’s already standing, coming towards him. ‘Right..well, erm, carry on everyone!’ And with that, he’s unceremoniously dragged off of the table by his wrist. ‘Oi! What are you doing?’

‘Remus,’ Sirius replies, as if that’s answer enough. He’s tugging James towards the portrait hole. ‘Where’s he going, this time of night? Something’s wrong.’

‘But _Lily,’_ James whines, casting a forlorn glance back to the redhead, who’s taken Sirius’ seat next to Marlene. He’d been doing so _well_ with her this evening. He’d been so _charming_.

Sirius glares at him. Actually, _he_ looks rather like James’ mother when he does that. Why does everyone pull the same faces at James as his mother does?

‘You can go back to her once we know where he’s gone,’ Sirius bargains as the portrait swings open to let them through.

‘S’probably just the hospital wing, maybe he’s feeling ill. Maybe he’s having a shower in the prefect’s bathroom.’

‘Unlikely.’

‘How’d you know?’

‘He’s on the floor over there.’

James follows Sirius’ gaze to find Remus down the stairs, sitting against a suit of armour in the hallway, his chin resting against his chest. The fat lady swings round sharply to close the portrait hole (she is less than fond of these little get-togethers, and she intends to make it known) and the sounds of merriment from the common room are, for the most part, dulled out. It would’ve been dark out in the corridors, if it wasn’t for the near-full moon reaching through the windows to bathe the stone in silver. It looks fucking massive, but Remus has managed to find a spot out of the moonlight’s grasp to sit down in. James wonders if that’s deliberate.

‘Remus?’ Sirius asks, approaching him slowly, cautiously, as though he’s a rabbit Sirius doesn’t want to startle. At his name, Remus lifts up his head to squint at them, his cheeks flushed pink. ‘Sir’us. James,’ he mumbles, but it’s more like taking a register than actually addressing them.

‘Fucking hell, are you alright, Remus?’

‘M’quite alright, Remus.’

Sirius quirks an eyebrow. ‘That’s your name.’

‘Mm? Oh. It’s..it is, isn’t it?’

James, who has now followed Sirius down the staircase, feels himself start to smile.

‘Are you…drunk, Remus?’

Remus, who is very obviously drunk, pouts. ‘No, mm..m’not. Drunk, m’not. No.’

Sirius folds his arms over his chest, looking down at Remus sternly. ‘Where were you going?’

‘For a walk,’ Remus explains, trying (and failing) to match his serious tone.

‘So why are you on the floor now?’

The fact that he’s on the floor seems to be news to Remus, who stares down at his lap in confusion. ‘Needed a break.’

‘Thirty metres from the common room?’

Remus blinks slowly, deciding his answer. ‘..Uh-huh.’

‘What d’you drink, Moony? How many bottles?’ James asks. He can’t remember whether that thing he read about werewolves having a higher alcohol tolerance was true or not; a lot of the books in the library about lycanthropy are full of utter shite. It makes James quite angry, actually. Still, he’s enjoying this. He’s always wanted to see Remus drunk, and that desire has only grown as the years have gone on. In answer to his question, Remus holds his hands up and starts to count on his fingers. At around the fourth finger mark, Sirius has seen enough. ‘Alright, well, it’s bed-time, Remus,’ he instructs, but Remus isn’t happy about this.

‘No, no, I want to go to the party..’ he mumbles, peering up at his friends pleadingly. James is admittedly rather impressed at Sirius’ austere streak – he’s never seen him this way before (he’s also never seen Remus drunk before, of course. He’s very proud of both of his friends today). Maybe he would’ve made a decent prefect after all.

‘That’s where you’ve been all evening,’ Sirius replies.

‘Haven’t been havin’ _fun_ though, want to have fun, don’t want to be boring..’

Sirius doesn’t seem to be convinced by this, but James is, and he nudges his unyielding friend with his elbow. ‘C’mon Pads, let the man have some fun,’ he reasons, glancing reassuringly down at Remus, the way grandparents do when they indulge the whims of their grandchildren against their parent’s wishes.

‘From the looks of it, he’s had plenty of fun already..’

Remus shakes his head furiously.

‘No? Well in that case, you’ve got to stand up,’ Sirius tells him.

‘Mm, well m’going to. Going to.. _now_ ,’ says Remus, staggering to his feet and eventually looking down at them triumphantly. He catches James’ eye and giggles (something James has not seen him do in six years of knowing the boy) and James, in turn, bursts into laughter.

Sirius moves to grip Remus by the arm, indicating for James to do the same, and they begin steering him back towards the common room. Remus looks between them wildly, his head bouncing with each step.

‘Where we goin’?’

‘To have fun, Remus,’ James promises, but Sirius sighs.

‘He needs to go to bed, actually. Any other day, yeah, this would’ve been funny, but he’d feel fucking awful tomorrow even if he wasn’t hungover, Jamie.’

‘If he didn’t think he could handle a little hangover tomorrow, he wouldn’t have drunk so much. Look, I agree he needs to sleep, but it’s not that late yet, let’s give him a little time to enjoy himself, eh? Doesn’t feel fair that he doesn’t get to have fun when everyone else does, just because of the way the calendar fell. Remus isn’t an idiot; he knew what he was doing.’

Remus, as if on cue, then proceeds to trip over his own feet, and it’s only his friends holding his arms that keeps him upright. He giggles again, and James mutters, ‘Not really helping my case here, Moony.’

‘See? He can barely stand.’

‘Not true, that was just unfortunate timing,’ James contests. ‘Look, just let go of him for a moment, here, look—’

The two boys step back to leave Remus standing alone in front of the staircase, blinking at them with a blank expression. He sways a little, seemingly unfamiliar with his own long limbs, but he ultimately stays upright, and so Sirius relents.

‘Half an hour, then we’ve really got to make him sleep, Prongs.’

James beams proudly at Remus, as if in managing to stay standing Remus has accomplished something truly wonderful. ‘We’ll take that, won’t we Moons?’ He says, and though his friend doesn’t look like he’s quite managed to comprehend the question, he smiles drowsily all the same.

Both vaguely-sober boys take hold of Remus again in order to help him navigate the tricky task of climbing stairs. Around three steps in, Remus leans in towards James, who’s pretty overwhelmed by the ridiculously strong scent of alcohol coming off of him.

‘James,’ he whispers. ‘James, can I wear your glasses?’ he asks, reaching up to gently touch a finger to one of James’ lenses. James, who has been dealing with this question his entire life (though never from Remus), frankly ranks the common request among the most irritating things a person can say to him, coming in just above comments pertaining to the striking resemblance he bears to his father (he _knows_ they look alike. Believe it or not, he _has_ seen his father before. For the love of Merlin, he _knows_ ). However, this is Moony, and more than that, this is _inebriated_ Moony, who seems to have very little idea of what he’s saying, so James just angles his head away from the touch and responds with a polite ‘No, Moony. ‘Fraid not.’

Remus isn’t discouraged by this, not even a little bit. ‘James. _James._ Guess what?’

He gives James no time to guess, which is for the best, really, because it’s a pretty ambiguous question.

‘I’m a _werewolf,_ James, you know that?’ he whispers gleefully, following up his confession with a long, low howl as if to prove it. It’s quite an impressive howl – is that because he’s a werewolf? Or is he just good at it? Does the skill transfer across his forms? James erupts into laughter again (and subsequently so does Remus) but quickly composes himself when he looks across Remus to see Sirius glaring daggers at him. Sirius’ glares are probably very intimidating to people who aren’t friends with him, which fortunately means not James (is that because he’s a Black? Or is he just good at it?).

They’ve stopped walking. ‘We can’t take him into the common room if he’s going to go round shouting that, James. He doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ Sirius hisses, and James has to agree that that’s an important point. He nods, turning back to Remus.

‘You’re a werewolf?’ He asks with false curiosity, the way one humours a toddler who’s telling you that they’re a princess and also a merperson and also a dragon. Remus nods so enthusiastically that they have to tighten their grip to prevent him falling over. It’s odd, seeing him so happy about it all.

‘That’s great, Remus, don’t tell anyone.’

Now this, he doesn’t like, which James gathers from the way Remus throws his head back in frustration. ‘ _Why?_ Ev’ryone..Ev’ryone always tells me that! Dad..and, and ev’ryone. Can’t..m’not allowed to say anything, _ever,_ m’sick of it! And I jus’ told you it, see? I’m a werewolf! S’all alright! I’ve got lynac..lycath, _ly,_ I’m a _were_ —’

‘For fuck’s sake, _shut up_! What the fuck are you trying to do?’ Sirius barks suddenly, to the surprise of both James and Remus, the latter of whom jumps. Sirius has never, ever shouted at Remus, who stares at him, wide-eyed, before he closes his mouth slowly and looks down at his shoes, ducking his head.

It doesn’t take very long (although it _feels_ like ages) for Sirius to decide he may have been a tad harsh – a theory that James does his best to emphasise through the way he scowls at Sirius, pulling Remus closer into his side, almost possessively. It’s not that Sirius was wrong – Merlin, no, he’s absolutely right that Remus needs to shut up, and if Remus were sober he’d wholeheartedly approve of the measures - but it’s more about the delivery. James does not much go for people shouting at Remus, especially not when he’s so far gone that he’s calling other people by his own name. And he looks really sad now, like a kicked puppy. James won’t stand for people kicking Remus; the universe has already kicked him quite enough, thanks.

Sirius sighs. ‘Remus?’

There’s no answer, Remus’ face is hard to make out beneath the curtain of light-brown hair that falls over it as he looks downwards.

‘Hey, Remus, I’m sorry, c’mon. Forgive me?’

There’s a wounded sniff this time, and eventually he mumbles ‘Forgive you. Sorry.’

‘Really though Remus, you can’t tell anyone, alright?’ James begins, in an attempt to absolve Sirius of some responsibility and present a more united front. ‘It’ll be really dangerous for you to tell anyone, and we might not all be able to be friends anymore.’

James would rather not delve any deeper into the consequences of Remus revealing his condition to anyone, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to have to, because Remus looks adequately horrified. He turns to Sirius, who raises his eyebrows to confirm James’ point, and quietly promises, ‘Won’t say anythin’.’

‘Remus, think carefully now. Have you told _anyone_ else that you’re a werewolf tonight? Besides James?’

As much as Sirius and James are more than ready to go and obliviate the entire population of Gryffindor house if necessary, they’re hoping it hasn’t quite come to that, so the seconds it takes Remus to figure out his answer are excruciatingly tense, but he finally shakes his head. ‘Didn’t speak to anyone.’

There’s a collective sigh of relief, and for the first time since leaving the common room Sirius allows himself to crack a smile. ‘Alright, c’mon, let’s have some fun,’ he says, tugging on Remus’ arm to prompt him to start climbing the stairs again. James shakes his head, half amused, half dizzy with relief (and probably the effects of what he’s had to drink, though it apparently pales in comparison to Remus). ‘Y’know, it’s just his luck. He’s got _one_ pretty significant secret, and as soon as he’s drunk—’

‘Two,’ Remus mutters, casting a glance at Sirius.

‘Two?’

‘He swings both ways, remember? Bisexual. He did tell us, but only us and Peter know, so that’s a secret.’

James has remembered that. Remus frowns in a way that suggests that he, in fact, has not.

‘Three, then..’

‘What’s he on about now?’

‘Dunno,’ Sirius admits. ‘Think he’s just counting now.’

They almost, _almost_ make it to the top of the stairs, when Remus rests his head on Sirius’ shoulder (which is difficult, considering he’s quite a bit taller than Sirius) and lets out a low whine, which has both James and Sirius laughing.

‘What’s the matter now, Remus?’

‘I like Sir’us,’ he mumbles, with spectacular disregard for the second syllable of his name, and as if it isn’t Sirius’ neck that he’s talking into. Sirius pats his arm gently, assuring him that, ‘I like you too, Remus.’

‘S’not the same,’ Remus explains, and James detects something strange in Remus' voice, weighing it down. ‘S’not..not the way I like _you_.’

Sirius frowns, and it’s only then that James realises they have once again come to a halt. Merlin, this has to be the slowest any one has ever climbed these stairs in the history of Hogwarts, he reckons. Sensing that they’re going to be here for a little while, James deems Remus stable enough to let go of his wrist, and he leans back against the stone banister, arms folded, pondering his silent gratitude for the fact that this isn’t one of the staircases that moves. They probably would’ve done a tour of the castle by now if it had been. He watches as Sirius slowly tugs Remus off of his shoulder, gives him a concerned look. Isn’t Remus just rambling now? James certainly doesn’t know what he’s on about.

‘What d’you mean, Remus?’ Sirius asks quietly, and Remus has his back to James, so when he leans in towards Sirius’ ear and whispers something into it that actually leaves Sirius’ mouth hanging open a little, he finds that he doesn’t catch a word of it. Before he can ask, however, Remus abruptly lurches away from Sirius, stumbling backwards, and James has to rush forward to help him sit – rather than fall – against the stone banister, sprawled out over several steps at once.

‘Merlin, Moony,’ he mutters under his breath, and nobody seems to hear him. That, or they’re ignoring him.

Sirius crouches in front of where Remus is sitting, trying to get him to look at him properly.

‘Did you say you.. _fancy_ me, Remus?’

‘What? Nah, fuck off, pull the other one mate, he said that? What’d he really say?’ James asks, because Sirius has to either be fucking with him, or Remus is considerably more drunk than James realised, if he’s fabricating feelings for the first person he lays eyes on. Which is what he’s doing, here. Right? If he’d been looking the other way, he probably would’ve said the same things to James.

‘James, shut up for a moment, yeah?’ Sirius says, and his voice has gone weirdly soft. James looks down to see Remus nodding sadly.

‘S’like..you fancy Marlene, don’t you?’

Sirius casts a bemused glance up towards James, who’s grinning wickedly.

‘Yeah..I fancy Marlene…’

‘S’like that. I like you like that, but you like girls, and I like girls too, but there...so many secrets, m’sick, and s’been ages..and I like you more..’

‘Look at you mate, you’re blushing!’ James teases, because he is; Sirius has gone a little red. Sirius is _flustered. Sirius._ It’s as if he’s never received an alcohol-induced love confession before. Because Remus wouldn’t be saying this if it wasn’t for the alcohol...obviously. Yeah. _Although,_ having said this, James is beginning to question whether or not that necessarily means there’s no truth to it. He might be buggin, but this all seems rather specific - he’s talking about Marlene, and Marlene even isn’t here right now.

Sorry, what the fuck is going on?

 _‘James,’_ Sirius hisses, glowering up at him, and he looks a tad murderous. He’s done that thing, too, where people who have blushed blush even more, because someone pointed out that they were blushing in the first place. James backs up against the bannister, holding up his hands in surrender.

‘You like me more?’ Sirius continues. Remus nods again.

‘More than the girls. But you..you like Marlene, and s’alright. Marlene’s so pretty, Sir’us. She’s so pretty, like you. S’alright, you two..’ He trails off, when James leans down to look at him, he’s taken aback by how upset he looks. And it’s not kicked-puppy upset. It’s more like this-is-something-I’ve-been-thinking-about-for-a-while upset, and he’s trying to reassure Sirius but it’s not going very far. It’s becoming less funny by the second.

‘Are you trying to tell me you fancy Marlene?’

Remus’ eyes go wide with horror. ‘ _No,_ no, she’s with you, I know that. I love you, Si’rus. S’been you for ages. I love you. I like your hair,’ he slurs quietly, lifting a hand to touch Sirius’ hair, and if there’s a reason why Sirius leans forward so he can reach it, he doesn’t seem to know it himself when he looks up at James, who’s watching them with raised eyebrows.

‘Is he kidding? Is he having us on?’ James asks, although he thinks he already knows the answer.

‘Is he sober enough to have the presence of mind to do that?’ replies Sirius, and James is fairly sure that no, he is not. Remus starts scratching at a scar peeking out from beneath the left sleeve of his jumper, but Sirius catches his hand.

‘Don’t do that,’ he reprimands, setting the hand back in Remus’ lap. Remus stares at him, and if James didn’t know Remus to be someone who never, ever cries, he might confess to thinking he sees tears brimming in his large, amber eyes.

James is slowly coming to the conclusion, as he looks down at Remus sitting on the floor next to him, Sirius crouched before him, that if Remus is, in fact, not fucking with them, he’s watching something he isn’t meant to be seeing. This is private, it wasn’t meant for James – hell, was it really even meant for Sirius? He’s becoming distinctly aware, as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to appear casual, that he’s an intruder here, and Remus doesn’t even realise, and the thought makes him quite uncomfortable. He can’t leave Sirius alone with him, though. Remus is a lanky git, and it’ll require the both of them to take him up; he can’t leave all the responsibility to Sirius. So, he stays.

Remus’ eyes, which had previously been staring right into Sirius’, drift slightly east of his head and come to rest on the window behind him, where the moon, tauntingly close to full, hangs, pressed into the ink of the night sky.

‘S’that tonight?’ he asks, jerking his head towards the silvery face. ‘Not meant to be here when it’s like that..’

James shoots Sirius an anxious glance, resting his hand on Remus’ shoulder. ‘No, Remus. That’s not tonight,’ he assures him, and the boy relaxes, cranes his head back, resting it against one of the vertical stone beams of the banister. ‘Mm?’ he asks, peering up at James, eyes like saucers. He looks remarkably young. ‘Oh, good. Don’t want to do it again. S’bad.’

‘Yeah, it is,’ James agrees, unable to think of anything else to say.

‘Hurts.’

‘Yeah.’

Sirius, who has finally found the ability to speak again, taps Remus on the leg to get his attention. ‘You ready to go to bed, Remus? Think it’s too late for fun now,’ and it’s posed as a question, but James knows he intends to take Remus up, now. It’s too much. Thankfully, Remus nods anyway, and suddenly he’s turning, clutching at the bannister to try and pull himself up, though by the time he’s standing straight he’s leaning more on James and Sirius than the bannister anyway. They climb the remaining steps until they’re in front of the portrait hole, where Sirius pauses and looks at Remus. ‘When we go through the common room, Remus, don’t talk to anyone, alright? You’re going up, but we have to go through to get there. Just don’t say anything to anyone, dig?’

It’s a preventative measure, Sirius still doesn’t seem entirely convinced that Remus won’t try to tell more people about his secret. The first one – the furry little problem. Although maybe the second one, too. Personally, James thinks it’d be a tall order for Remus to string more than a few words together at this point anyway. Remus nods obediently.

‘Feel sick.’

‘Shocker.’

The fat lady regards them deploringly for a moment, even after Sirius has given her the password. ‘For Merlin’s sake, take the poor boy to _bed_ already!’

‘That’s what we’re doing, you miserable old hag!’ James snaps back, and if she’s contemplating a response, she thinks better of it; she simply tuts and swings open for them.

Unsurprisingly, the party is still in near full swing, though it seems that Lily has effectively managed to root out the remaining first and second years (the lippy third year from earlier gives James a gloating look, clearly pleased that he’s managed to stick around despite his orders). They have, however, seemed to heed James’ request to ‘take it down a notch’: there’s still music playing, but it’s not as loud as before, and there are more bright-eyed people lounging across furniture chatting, bottles and cups dangling precariously from their hands, than there are dancing.

They waste no time in pulling Remus across the common room towards the stairs, and whether he keeps his head down because Sirius told him too, or he’s genuinely too drowsy to find the energy to lift it, they frankly don’t care. James can’t help but seek Lily out: she’s sitting cross-legged on one of the windowsills with Alice from the year above, and she’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail. James can see little silver earrings glinting in the lamplight, they’re very pretty. She’s very pretty. He doesn’t get the chance to look for long, but she catches his eye and gives him a small smile. His stomach lurches, as though he’s swallowed Ludo Bagman and he’s playing a match down there. Sirius tugs Remus forward, which means James is also pulled forward, and he tears his eyes away. He’s only half sure that he remembered to actually smile back at her.

‘What’s wrong with Lupin?’ Gideon Prewett enquires from one of the sofas. He did a bloody good job as beater today, him and his brother are a real force to be reckoned with; they saved James from what would’ve been multiple concussions during the course of the match.

‘Ill,’ Sirius replies, not slowing his pace. Until, that is, his attention is caught by Marlene, perched on the armrest of the armchair closest to the dormitory stairs. James definitely gets what he sees in her, to be fair.

‘Where you going, sweet?’ She asks Sirius, who turns around to face her a little better. She isn’t asking for the answer; it’s pretty obvious where they’re going, those stairs only offer one destination. Sirius has let go of Remus’ arm now, but there’s still a guiding hand on the small of his back. When he sees that James notices it, the hand inches upwards a little. James pretends to be looking away, oblivious.

Sirius jerks his head towards Remus, who’s looking around the room absently, blinking like he’s never seen it before.

‘Taking him up.’

It’s weird, seeing such a vacant look in Remus’ eyes, which are usually so sharp, so keen and focused. With the knowledge that they’ve got the situation under control, James allows himself to admit that it _is_ quite amusing. Mr Sensible Prefect Lupin just hiccupped.

‘He alright? Thought he looked sick earlier,’ Marlene says, and she gives Remus a little wave but he just stares at her.

Sirius flashes her a smile, ‘He’s had a bit too much to drink, we’re taking him up,’ he explains. Marlene looks rather surprised, and if she’s ever spoken to Remus before then James concludes that that’s to be expected.

‘Didn’t have him down as the sort. That’s nice, though – you lot looking after each other. You coming back down after?’

James coughs to remind Sirius that they’re still there, before this descends into completely shameless flirting (James knows a thing or two about that topic, he can spot the signs). ‘Yeah, probably,’ Sirius promises her, and he turns his attention back to getting Remus up the stairs.

They reach the door to their dormitory. From behind the closed door, Peter’s snores are already flooding out; he went up ages ago.

‘Sorry,’ Remus mumbles, just as Sirius goes to open the door. He casts a guilty look in James’ direction, who responds with a reassuring nudge to his side. After all, how many times has Remus had to look after all three of them single-handedly after they’ve drunk themselves stupid?

‘What for, Moons?’

But then Remus looks back at Sirius, and Sirius looks at him, and all of a sudden James doesn’t think he’s apologising for being drunk.

‘Don’t know.’

***

The first thing he’s aware of is the pounding in his head. It’s there before he opens his eyes, before he registers sound, before he moves a muscle. The throbbing sensation is actually worse than if it’d just been a flat-out ache; every time he’s foolish enough to think it’s dulled down, it flares back up. There’s a bludger in his skull. Why do people enjoy this again?

He’s not opening his eyes yet, there’s really no need, but in some primitive, stone-age attempt to numb his headache he does bring a hand to his head, clutching his hair uselessly and pressing against his temple. It’s not effective.

And then, sound. A voice – James’ voice – that sounds further away than it likely is. It’s still too loud, though, even with one of Remus’ ears and half of his face buried in his pillow. James’ voice is saying words.

‘Is he awake? Think—yeah, he’s awake!’

There’s movements, footsteps towards his bed, and out of courtesy Remus opens one eye – the one that isn’t pressed into the fabrics of his bed – to find James crouching beside him, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He squiggles his eyebrows.

‘Mornin’, sunshine.’

Remus groans, reaching up a hand to tug his bed-curtains across so that they block out the window opposite. ‘Please, _please_ fuck off. S’fucking bright in here.’

The hand falls back onto his bed, and he submerges it in his duvet. James steps back to take a seat on the bed closest to him – Sirius’. He’s still amused, and clutches at his own chest defensively. ‘Hey, don’t go blaming me, Moony, _I_ didn’t tell you to go and get pissed all on your own. How’re you feeling?’

He groans again, and hopes that’s a sufficient answer.

‘Hangover or full moon?’

The pain isn’t just in his head, it’s all over; his joints, his back. He feels a familiar fever coming on, and adjusts his head slightly so his mouth isn’t against his pillow and he can clearly reply ‘Both’.

‘Want some water? I’ll go get you some water,’ James says, because he’s great like that. Remus doesn’t plan on sitting up, so he can only assume James is going to the bathroom, and when he returns to take his seat on Sirius’ bed, he places a full glass on Remus’ bedside table. He’ll drink it in a bit.

‘Thanks.’

James tilts his head. ‘What were you thinking Moony, if you don’t mind me asking? Not impeccable timing, mate.’

‘Wasn’t, I suppose.’

That’s not really true. Remus _was_ thinking. Not rationally, no, but still thinking. Thinking about how happy Sirius looked with Marlene, how well they fit together. About how poor a friend he was if he couldn’t be happy for him, how silly he was being. About how tired he was of feeling sorry for himself. About how if they did end up together, he’d have to get used to watching them, so he should just get over himself and stop sulking. He’d been thinking about how he was at a party with adequate means of distraction, and that he ought to go and have some fun. And after all _those_ thoughts, it’d been rather easy to start drinking and just not stop. He’d kept the two extra tequila bottles behind, anyway, instead of setting them up on one of the side tables like they’d done with everything else they’d bought.

James leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and he actually looks vaguely concerned when he asks ‘How much do you remember?’

Well, that’s unnerving.

‘Went for a walk.’

‘Yep.’

‘Didn’t get far.’

‘Nope.’

‘Was on the floor a lot.’

‘Yep.’

‘Shouting? Sirius shouted at me. Or near me.’

‘At you, for good reason though.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

Peter emerges from the bathroom now, tugging one of Remus’ jumpers over his head (which reminds Remus that it’s a Sunday, thank God for small mercies), and perches on the edge of his own bed, behind Sirius’. ‘Was he really that bad? Should’ve woken me up, feel like I’ve missed something now.’

‘He was unbelievable,’ James informs him, kicking his feet up onto Sirius’ bed (as if he reckons he can get away with that) and twisting around. ‘Told me he was a werewolf, started howling, like _really_ howling, seriously, I’m not havin’ you on, ask Sirius when he comes out.’ But obviously Peter believes James, and he snorts.

Alright, now Remus is sitting up. ‘I..I didn’t tell anyone else, did I? There’s no chance that was overheard?’ And he figures the answer has to be no, because otherwise someone would be telling him to pack his bags already. James shakes his head, tangling his fingers in his hair. ‘Nah, we wouldn’t let you Moony, we aren’t cruel. Said we couldn’t be friends if you did tell anyone. And Sirius shouted at you.’

‘That’s rather harsh.’

‘You were rather drunk.’

‘Fair point. What else did I say?’

Just then, Sirius comes in from the bathroom, hair still wet and hanging in thick, dark locks. He freezes when he sees Remus, stares at him for a moment. It’s like the atmosphere in the room hardens, freezes, like they’re back out on the Quidditch stands and Remus can see his breathing coming out in chilled white gusts in front of him. It’s tense, still, and he’s got no idea why. But something’s wrong, and to make matters worse James then stands up and declares, loudly and awkwardly, ‘I’ll, uh, let Sirius explain the rest. Peter and I are going down to breakfast, Remus don’t get up, we’ll bring you something.’

‘Wait! Haven’t dried my hair yet,’ Peter protests, scouring the floor around his bed for a towel. James seizes him by the wrist and starts dragging him towards the door, which he flings open with his other hand. ‘I’ll spell it dry, Pete, come on.’

‘I need to put on a belt!’

‘I’ll hold your trousers up myself, Pete, come _on_ ,’ and Peter throws a helpless, desperate look towards Sirius and Remus but there’s nothing for it; he’s dragged from the room, and the dormitory door swings closed with a resounding slam. Sirius looks from the door, to Remus, and back to the door.

‘What was all that about?’ Remus asks. ‘What did I do?’

Sirius crosses over to his bed and takes James’ spot, smoothing out the part of his duvet that James creased when he put his feet up. He rests his arms on his knees just as James had, closing his hands together and then opening them again. He looks embarrassed, and Remus has never been more confused (and that’s saying something, if his Potions OWL exam last year was anything to go by).

‘What’s going on, Sirius?’

Sirius stares at him, raising his eyebrows a little disbelievingly. ‘You really don’t remember a thing you said, do you?’

‘Looks to be that way, yeah.’

‘Well you, erm, told me you fancy me, Remus.’

It’s funny; they keep doing this. This isn’t the first time his friends have worked out a secret of his (although this time it doesn’t really sound like there was an awful lot of work required on their part) and then informed him – when he’s been thinking he’s been doing an alright job of keeping it quiet – that they know. There are distinct similarities: when they’d found out he was a werewolf, and had told him in the dormitory one night after he’d come back from the hospital wing, he remembers feeling nauseous and cold and as though someone had ripped the floor from under him and left him there, sort of floating, suspended, until James – because of course it’d been James, first – had announced ‘It’s alright mate, we’re alright with it, aren’t we boys?’. It’d been absurd, at the time, because Remus had never thought until then that being ‘alright’ with werewolves was a stance that anybody took. _He_ hadn’t even taken it. There are differences, though. Although physically, he feels the way he did last time (which is silly, because you can’t be kicked out of school for fancying your mate), where before he’d sort of known the jig was up and he’d had no choice but to come clean, he figures now that if any part of their friendship is to remain intact, that’s not an option here.

‘Is it..were you just talking, you know, or do you actually..?’

‘Talking,’ Remus replies, and it’s out of his mouth before Sirius has even finished his sentence, which Sirius seems surprised about at first, but then he nods quickly, as if to say ‘ _Oh, yeah, obviously, just as I’d thought_.’

‘I was just talking, Sirius, probably decided I fancied the first person I laid eyes on. I have no memory of what I said,’ (which is really fucking inconvenient) ‘So I must have just been saying words, nonsense. Seriously, Christ, don’t worry, it wasn’t real. Don’t flatter yourself, Black,’ he jokes, but there’s very little humour to it. Sirius gives him a small smile though, which he appreciates.

‘Oh, right, yeah, I mean that’s what I thought, I assumed you couldn’t really..uh, good. Good, yeah,’ and it’s strange, Sirius doesn’t look as relieved as Remus expected him to. He probably doesn’t buy it. He’s going to have to pretend he does.

‘Well, that aside,’ and he’s changing the subject, thank God, as he leans back onto his bed, ‘You were a fucking mess, Moons. I couldn’t admit it at the time, but it was pretty fucking funny. I’ve lost all respect for you as my prefect, though, I must say.’

‘Did you _ever_ have respect for me as your prefect?’

Sirius waves his hand dismissively. ‘I must’ve had a little, because there was definitely some still left to lose after last night. Surprised me too.’

‘Not as if I was in the habit of reprimanding any of you lot anyway,’ Remus sighs, heaving himself up and out of bed and reaching for the water James left.

‘You can’t seriously be getting up. You look like shit,’ says Sirius. Remus doesn’t doubt it, and he didn’t actually plan on getting up, no. Not for a few hours, anyway. But he does need to get changed first.

‘I’m not, but I’m still in my jeans,’ he explains, moving to his trunk at the foot of the bed.

‘Yeah, sorry, we thought it best to just put you to bed like that, rather than try to undress you.’

‘I’m really rather glad you didn’t,’ Remus replies. James really is an awful influence on him; it’s January, he should be unpacked by now, but instead he’s rooting around his trunk – still full as the day he arrived – for something clean and comfortable. That’s when he realises he’s still wearing Sirius’ jumper, ever since the match yesterday. He should probably take it off.

‘Sorry, forgot to give this back to you,’ he explains, tugging it over his head and tossing it to Sirius, who sticks up an arm to catch it.

‘Cheers. Did suit you, though. I’ll see if they have a navy next time I go shopping,’ Sirius says, examining the jumper. It probably doesn’t smell like him anymore. He pauses for a moment, as if contemplating how to phrase something, and then he finally says ‘When Frank and Alice started going round, he gave her his jumper, girls said it was dead romantic, but I don’t get it. D’you think I should give this to Marlene? Do you think she’ll be expecting me to give her something?’

It’s alright, really. It’s how it is. It’s alright, because it has to be. Remus pulls a clean t-shirt on, looks at Sirius. ‘If you want. If you think she’d like it.’

‘What if she don’t like the colour?’

‘I don’t really think that’s the point of the gesture, but, well, what colours does she like?’

‘That’s the thing,’ Sirius sighs, setting the jumper aside. He lays back on his bed, and Remus is too busy changing into a pair of pajama bottoms on to see the way Sirius looks at him. ‘Never thought to find out none of that. Not about her.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! sorry if all the references are sort of off. I did plan on having a worse ending where there’s no hope at all, but decided to leave it a little more open. I’m tired of hurting Remus, so if anyone has any suggestion for happier stuff do let me know :,) thank u!!  
> -ridi


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